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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742787">I Will Be the Wolf (and when you're starving, you'll need it too)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrunting_License/pseuds/Hrunting_License'>Hrunting_License</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrunting_License/pseuds/shatteredGlasses'>shatteredGlasses (Hrunting_License)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eöl Is His Own Warning, M/M, Mairon/Maeglin is consensual, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Parent/Child Incest, Parent/Child Non-Consensual, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:49:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrunting_License/pseuds/Hrunting_License, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrunting_License/pseuds/shatteredGlasses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maeglin protects his mother from Eöl and learns about monstrosity. Years later, he meets another monster, but his experience is very different.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eöl/Maeglin | Lómion, Maeglin | Lómion/Sauron | Mairon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maeglin is tired of seeing his mother in pain. She hides the bruises well, but he knows it’s his fault. He made his father angry again. He wasn’t fast enough in the forge, or perhaps he was out too late in the evening, humming and communing with the creatures that whispered through the darkness, or perhaps he dropped a glass and broke it. Whenever Maeglin missteps, it is his mother who is punished. She doesn’t show the pain when she thinks he’s looking, but he is adept at creeping through shadows and hiding, and he sees the emptiness that lurks in her eyes when she thinks he is not watching her. He knows. Oh, how he knows. And he is tired of it. It is not fair.</p><p>So here he stands like a ghost hovering inside his father’s study, waiting for him to return. There is barely a murmur of noise when his father opens the door and enters, for he is shadowed like his son. Poisonous creatures, both of them, Maeglin knows. He wonders that he did not kill his mother when she bore him. He regrets it.</p><p>“Adar,” he says, and Eöl’s pale eyes catch on his face, betraying only the slightest sign of startlement.</p><p>“Why are you here, Maeglin?” Eöl asks, in his soft voice. Soft-edged as an uncoiled whip.</p><p>“You are angry,” Maeglin replies. He will not beat around the bush. “It is my fault, not my mother’s. I would offer recompense. Take it from me, not from her.”</p><p>There is a strange, fey otherlight in his father’s eyes. Maeglin cannot suppress a shudder. The door shuts. Eöl crosses to him, and Maeglin braces himself for a blow that never comes. Instead, his father takes his chin and tilts it up, his fingers strangely gentle. “Thou art of age,” he says, and Maeglin does not understand what he means. “For several years now. And thou wouldst take her place?”</p><p>This is what he came here for. Never mind that there is something even uglier in this darkness than Maeglin thought. Never mind that he does not know what it is, or why he longs more to flinch from his father’s strangely gentle touch than from a blow. “Yes,” he says, and he pretends boldness, meeting his father’s gaze with his own.</p><p>His father moves his hand to Maeglin’s throat and kisses him.</p><p>In the dusk, Maeglin has watched foxes hunt rabbits. Often the rabbits run, and sometimes they escape when they do. Sometimes, they do not run. Sometimes, they go still and motionless, letting the foxes follow the ones who run. Sometimes, the frozen rabbits also escape.</p><p>Once, Maeglin went to one afterwards, one that the foxes overlooked. He lifted it, and it did not protest at all. It did not move. He handled it roughly, and it did not move. The stupid thing, Maeglin thought. If it fought back, it might escape. If it rent his hands with teeth and claws, if it wriggled and screamed—he did not kill it. He left it there. It seemed so stupid.</p><p>Now, as his father pushes him up against the book-case, still holding him casually by the throat, Maeglin understands the rabbit. Part of him wants to scream, to protest that this is not what he meant. Part of him refuses this, for then will it not be even worse for Aredhel? Neither of these parts matters, though, for he could not move if he wanted to.</p><p>Maeglin never thought to taste his father’s mouth upon his own. He never thought to feel his father’s hands on his waist, undressing him in hurried silence. The shadows writhe and whisper. He wants to protest he does not know how to do this, but there is a hand on his cock, and apparently his body knows how to react to that.</p><p>He’s never felt a hand there other than his own. It feels different. Eöl’s hands work on him. Maeglin cries out as his father’s fingers, cold and slick, penetrate him. At least that hurts.</p><p>“A whore just like your mother,” whispers his father’s voice. Is that amusement? Maeglin doesn’t know.</p><p><em>No</em>, he wants to say. His mother is no whore; it was not of her doing that she bore a child of darkness who became her shackle. Maeglin’s face is wet. He hears the rustle of cloth as his father opens his own robes. He realizes, too late, what is going to happen, realizes only as his father turns him around with sudden swiftness and slams the front of his body into the bookcase. That hurts, too. Maeglin’s body whimpers softly.</p><p>His father grunts. “Too tight,” he mutters. The pain is muted and delayed. “Well, we’ll fix that.”</p><p>It’s only <em>then</em> that Maeglin realizes that he’s stretched open—it <em>hurts</em>—that his body is parted for his father’s cock.</p><p>He scrambles to hold himself up, pressing his wet face against his arm across the bookshelf. His father’s hands on his hips hold him as his father fucks his body with hard, sure thrusts. Maeglin’s eyes drip tears, and his nose fills, disgustingly, with snot. He thinks about moles and rats, how they hide. How you have to get them to trust you if you’re to play with them. Most of his friends growing up were moles and rats and other creeping creatures of the dark. Everything in this place is dark. Everything except his laughing mother, who loves him. If this is what Eöl did to her, Maeglin is glad, in a distant sort of way, that he won’t, anymore.</p><p>“Moan for me, little pup,” Eöl whispers.</p><p>Maeglin doesn’t know how, but he tries to make his throat make a noise.</p><p>“Louder,” his father tells him, commanding. He shifts inside Maeglin, and strange dark sensation burns through him, dragging a shaky noise from his body’s lungs and chest, muffled by the drag of his lolling tongue and the bones of his arm.</p><p>“<em>Louder</em>, pup.”</p><p>Maeglin howls. His father’s hand twists in his hair. The shadows of the books seem to dance before his eyes. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, and Maeglin wants the pain back. Eöl lifts him till he’s halfway into the deep bookshelf, his toes barely on the ground, and he realizes he doesn’t have to remember to make the noises anymore, because they’re spilling from his throat, little moans and weak grunts and soft, desperate sounds.</p><p>And it’s his <em>father</em> making his body sound like this. Maeglin’s eyes are screwed up and his breath is tight in his lungs, his legs almost dangling as his father fucks him harder, murmuring in a soft, silken voice that he <em>feels good</em>, that he’s doing <em>well</em>, that he’s such a sweet, pretty little whore.</p><p>“Not like your mother,” Eöl whispers in his ear. “The bitch fought. I didn’t expect the pup to beg.”</p><p>He wants to cry. He is crying. He’s angry at himself for crying. This may not be what he wanted, but it’s what he asked for, isn’t it? Eöl’s hand tightens on his cock, and it feels—<em>good</em>—horribly good, better than anything he’s ever felt. His body and his mind are fast approaching all-out war, and he wants to split himself in half like a worm, let the two halves crawl away from each other.</p><p>“Do you like this?” Eöl murmurs in amusement. “I can feel you tightening up. Getting close, are you?”</p><p>He knows what Eöl means by that, although he’s only done this alone in his room before, and it’s nothing like that. It feels better and worse. At least he’s still crying. There’s something in him that isn’t broken, or maybe is. His thoughts don’t work in a line, they whirl about like shards of glass in a violent storm.</p><p>Eöl’s nails dig into his hip. “Answer me, pup.”</p><p>“Y-Y-Yes.” It doesn’t sound like his voice; it sounds broken and wrecked and needy.</p><p>“Yes, <em>Ada</em>.”</p><p>“Y-Yes. Ada.” Eöl’s next thrust is truly brutal, and Maeglin’s head hits the top of the book-shelf, though he barely feels the impact. Another twist and another thrust, and he feels pleasure claim him, sharp and bright and awful, like sunlight breaking him open to his core, wave after wave of it. He doesn’t know if he makes a sound. He does know he spills into his father’s hand.</p><p>His father makes a strangled noise, and yanks his hips back up to thrust, harsh and deep, into him, holding him up for a long moment. Then, panting, he pulls away, and Maeglin’s stomach churns as he feels his father’s seed trickling down the back of his leg. He grips the bookshelf as if it’s a plank, and he is lost in a raging ocean.</p><p>Eöl pats his back lightly. “Well done, pup,” he says, his breathing harsh. Clothing rustles again. “I’ll find you next time I require your services.”</p><p>Maeglin’s body flinches. He doesn’t want it to. This is what he wanted. No. It’s what he asked for. Isn’t it?</p><p>He hears the door shut and finally lets himself sink to the ground. He’s trembling, sweating, sticky. He’ll need to clean himself. Then he can go to his bedroom and hide in his closet, in the welcoming shadows. The shadows won’t judge him; they never do. The rats and mice will squeak and tumble and perhaps he’ll coax one or two of them out with crumbs and read them stories.</p><p>He waits for another few moments, and then he gets to his feet and finds his leggings, pulling them back on and rearranging his robes before heading out to the baths.</p><p>A thought strikes him as he sinks into the warm water. In the old books his mother gave him, Maeglin read that an Elf who was violated would die. As he cleans himself carefully with a cloth, he laughs a little that he ever thought he was not a monster.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sauron regarded his new prisoner. The Elf prince was small but sturdy. His face was set, his eyes staring somewhere into the middle distance. His hands were stretched cruelly above his head, but though his thighs must be cramping he did not show a sign of discomfort. Yet, at any rate.</p><p>A proud one. How amusing. Sauron was begrudgingly impressed at the boy’s lack of concern for his nudity, at least. That was unusual in an Elf. It made him miss Maitimo, in a strange way he did not like to think about too much. He circled the room. He would have liked to play with this one, but his master’s task was to gain the location of Gondolin, not to indulge in petty pleasures. A small voice whispered in Sauron’s mind that he resented this, not least because it was his master who had taught him to indulge in such pleasures to begin with.</p><p>“Maeglin, prince of Gondolin,” he said.</p><p>“Sauron. Lieutenant of Angband.” The Elf sounded—tired, instead of defiant. A curiosity. When Sauron crossed the room to him and took his chin in one hand, he did not shudder; he only went limp. When Sauron struck him, he cried out softly. His muscles were loose. It had been a sharp blow, and the color was rising in his cheek already in the wake of it, but something here was wrong, all wrong.</p><p>“Prince of Gondolin, what is this distance in your gaze? Where did a spoiled whelp of the Elven realms learn to shut himself away from torment?”</p><p>The boy laughed, gleeful and sharp. “Oh, my father taught me well enough the meaning of torment. I am no spoiled whelp, Sauron. I am a monster just as you are.”</p><p>Sauron paused, set back by the response. Once again, wholly unexpected. He looked at the small Elf. “You would do well to remember where you are,” he tried, but he thought his voice almost shook. He needed to try something different. There seemed little point in tormenting one who welcomed it. And there was his directive to think of, he reminded himself sternly. All that mattered was that he ascertain the location of Gondolin. The Elf’s queer defiance was irrelevant.</p><p>Maitimo had fought him, but Sauron had seen to his core in the end, and that was all he needed. He hadn’t even required the information he was able to rip out. Now, he did need it, but it wasn’t all that much information, really. The position of a few stars. The scent of the wind. The way the trees stood. A simple memory. He pinned Maeglin in place with his gaze and stripped his mind open like a book.</p><p>* * *</p><p>
  <em>He’s on his back. He never knows if being on his back is better or worse. He’s vulnerable like this. It’s a position of submission. But he can roll his eyes up and look at the ceiling. There are spiders on the ceiling, and he likes spiders. They move so gracefully, and their webs are so beautiful. It’s easy to distract himself from the feeling of twisted heat building inside him. It’s almost easy to forget that it’s his father fucking him like this, his father’s cock hitting something sweet and secret inside him. Easier to remember that he is not his mother. That his mother is safe. That if he takes this all without complaint, she will stay as safe as she can, unharmed, unviolated. Not free. He does not know how to give her freedom.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>* * *</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Lómion, where did that bruise on your throat come from?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He flinches, turning up the collar of his shirt. “I was clumsy in the forge, Ammë.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A pause, too meaningful to really be called silence. “Did he hurt you?” she asks, her voice quiet, threaded with an impossible anger.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Did he hurt me, Maeglin wonders vaguely. He supposes there was a little pain. There is a bruise the shape of a thumbprint on his inner thigh, from where Eöl took him the previous night, but it didn’t really hurt at the time. It still doesn’t, really. It marks him, but then he has been marked since the first time. Marked as a monster, an imprint far more indelible than a bruise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No,” he says, after far too long.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aredhel’s eyes are searching, pained. There is a nameless fear lurking inside them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did he do something else to you?” she asks then, her voice soft, afraid.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maeglin shakes his head, but his voice is gone. Lying is something he does for Eöl—“yes, Ada”, “oh, Ada, I love it”, “please, Ada, keep doing that”—though he knows that Eöl knows none of it is sincere. He does not lie to his Ammë. He does not know how.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Lómion,” Aredhel whispers, and he cannot bear the repulsion in her voice.</em>
</p><p>* * *</p><p>
  <em>Eöl whispers to him, softly, as his body gyrates in his father’s lap. He lives in a perpetual place of shadow. The forest covers him and keeps him safe and far away from the feeling of his father’s cock working inside his body, pounding in and out of him. Maeglin hates the way his body reacts. The monster’s child, himself a monster.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wishes he did not have to be seen. He wishes their coupling could always be in darkness, so that he could cloak himself in it. The shadows are comforting, quiet. The shadows would hide him, if they could. He felt it in his bones. Unfortunately, he could not keep from also feeling the pleasure inside him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>* * *</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They run. His mother calls him Lómion, but he has been Maeglin for so long. The shadows hide them, but Eöl knows how to walk the shadows, too. He dogs their trail. They are close to the white walls of the sacred city when Maeglin feels the shadows warning him. He does not know if they see further, if they can follow the echoes of the choices down the stream of time, or if they only know Eöl and follow the ripples he makes in the spaces now. He knows they warn him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He knows he tells his mother to go on without him, that he will stay behind, a monster’s kin as fodder for a monster.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She will not do it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He begs her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She dies for him anyway, and it all unspools.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>* * *</em>
</p><p>The thoughts struck Mairon like a physical blow. He tasted blood on his tongue and did not know if it was his or a memory. He had no time even to feel shame as his<em> eäla</em> jerked back, the same way the body of a mortal creature jerked away from a hot stove before thinking about it. Some little shard in his mind noted that it was not that he had not felt such darkness or pain before but that—</p><p>It was all there was.</p><p>Elves were joyful creatures. Mairon had learned to delight in taking that joy and twisting it, breaking it, molding it into new and interesting patterns. There was no joy here to break.</p><p>There was no beauty in Maeglin’s life.</p><p>Before he knew what he was doing, his <em>fana</em> had shrunk away from its usual Elven-like form, protecting his<em>eäla</em> in the only way it could, by simplifying and letting the touch of Maeglin’s mind roll off before it could burn. Mairon shook his head, whining sadly, his tail lashing agitatedly between his legs. The other creature in the room gasped softly.</p><p>Not quite certain why, Mairon went over to him, sniffing curiously, learning the Elf’s scent. Beneath old dust and new sweat, he could also smell darkness, shadow, and harsh steel. It was a good smell; it reminded him of the smell of the one who had been lost. The Elf said something. He sounded angry and frightened. Mairon did not like it. In this form, he knew two things: how to hunt, and how to protect.</p><p>He knew this Elf was important. He did not smell of prey. Therefore, he was to be protected and not hunted. Mairon whined again, pushing his head into the Elf’s leg, and the Elf laughed, a queer, broken laugh. He rubbed his knee against Mairon’s head. Mairon walked in a hesitant circle and then flopped down, whining softly again, his head on his paws. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what it was. He would have to wait.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Sauron groaned. His head ached, and his mouth tasted of fur and sawdust. He had been a wolf, but why? The last thing he remembered was that he had entered the cell to interrogate the prince of Gondolin. No—no, wait. That was <em>not</em> the last thing he remembered.</p><p>Shuddering, he pulled himself upright, double-checking that he no longer had a tail and that his ears were pointed but not floppy.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking,” the Elf said softly, his voice flat. “If you want the location of Gondolin, you can have it. If you promise me something.”</p><p>“Promise you…?” Sauron got out hoarsely. It was difficult to access words. Language centers were not fully cooperating. Or existent. He tried to twitch an ear and remembered he couldn’t.</p><p>“I know he hasn’t hurt her yet,” Maeglin said, staring at something in the middle distance. “She’s <em>not</em> a monster. She would die. I know. I know. But the way he <em>touches</em> her, when he doesn’t touch anyone else. The way he <em>looks</em>.” Those dark, fierce, burning eyes turned to Sauron’s face. “Promise me that you will keep Idril Celebrindal safe, that you will kill Turgon of Gondolin before he can defile his daughter, and I will tell you the location of Gondolin.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>He was a traitor. Maeglin supposed, in a distant sort of way, that that made him worse? Maybe it just put his monstrosity on full display. He hadn’t expected any of this, not really. He hadn’t expected Sauron to agree. He hadn’t expected himself to go through with it? He hadn’t expected to live, after he’d given the Lieutenant of Angband what he wanted, though the brush of the wolf’s mind against his had been enough that he was willing to take Sauron’s word for it that Idril would be protected.</p><p>More than living, he had been clothed and fed and taken from the cell, brought to a little room with a bed and a bookshelf. Living quarters. His own living quarters. And—most incomprehensible of all—there was a lock on the inside of the door.</p><p>“What am I doing here?” he asked the Maia beside him.</p><p>“Being rewarded, I suppose,” Sauron told him. “Or perhaps you could call it a simple exercise in fairness. You have suffered greatly, have you not, shadow child?”</p><p>He was too close. Maeglin could feel that hot breath on his neck, and he shivered with sudden revulsion. “I’m a monster,” he said in a low voice. “It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Sauron murmured, licking along the shell of Maeglin’s ear. “You don’t taste like a monster.”</p><p>Maeglin whimpered, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth. “Stop it.”</p><p>And Sauron did. He pulled back entirely, his golden eyes regarding Maeglin carefully. “You see?” he said, sounding almost amused. Then, with a bark of laughter. “You should not be looking to Sauron for kindness.”</p><p>“Then you should not be giving it to me,” Maeglin hissed viciously. “What is all this?” He waved a shaky hand at the little room, the window, the bookshelf.</p><p>“Perhaps it entertains me,” Sauron returned. “There is no point in breaking something that’s already broken. No challenge.”</p><p>“I’m not broken.” Maeglin crossed his arms. “But if you’re trying to put me back together just so you can take me apart again—”</p><p>“I’m not.” Something flashed in those golden eyes. “Not that I expect you to believe me. But I believe I am owed some recompense by my own master, and if I choose to use it thusly, there is no one to gainsay me.” He shrugged. “I promised I would keep your Idril safe; you have given me the information I needed. There is no reason to harm you in any case.”</p><p>When had anyone ever needed a <em>reason?</em></p><p>No. Maeglin shook his head. This was <em>Sauron</em>. It was a game, and Maeglin did not want to play. He stood and twisted a hand in Sauron’s flame-red hair, yanking his head back. The Maia hissed, but let him. “I know you’ll hurt me,” Maeglin told him. “So why don’t you just do it?”</p><p>“I don’t want to,” Sauron laughed, and Maeglin slapped him across the face. The sound of it echoed loudly in the little room. Sauron’s head fell forward, and Maeglin stepped back, tensing, waiting for the reaction, but the look in the Maia’s red-gold eyes when he raised his chin was not at all what Maeglin had expected. There was a red handprint already forming on his pale cheek, and those eyes were blown wide and dark. Still, he made no move to threaten Maeglin, but only stood in the center of the room, panting hard.</p><p>A jolt of something primal went right to Maeglin’s cock, and he felt himself hardening in a way he never had before, a way that had to do with more than simple physical arousal. He—wanted to keep feeling that. He wanted—</p><p>“Well?” Sauron said, amusement playing around his lips again. “What are you going to do now?”</p><p>“Stop <em>laughing</em>!” Maeglin told him hotly. “Do you find this so amusing?”</p><p>The curve of Sauron’s lips became more pronounced. “If I say yes, will you strike me again?” he purred.</p><p>Maeglin swallowed hard and stepped forward again, taking him roughly by the wrist and backing him up against the wall of the room, trying to see how far he could take this. Trying to see how far his body would respond, testing for the moment that mind and body would split apart, the way they always did. He sank a hand into Sauron’s hair, forced his chin up again, and did something like kissing him, but with more blood and more teeth. Sauron snarled and then moaned, his body moving beneath Maeglin’s hands, too-hot, supple and lithe.</p><p>Grabbing his wrists, Maeglin pinned them above his head, and Sauron let him, let him force a knee between his legs to find out if Maiar had the same parts that Elves did. Either they all did, or Sauron as a shapeshifter had chosen an Elven form, because he was hard as well, and he rutted desperately against Maeglin’s knee. “More—<em>please</em> more—”</p><p>Maeglin slapped him again, listening to the heavy crack as his head hit the stone wall. His cock twitched. His mind was still—right here, right where it belonged, in complete control of everything that was happening, and he was <em>hard</em> and he <em>wanted</em>—</p><p>There was no way Sauron was going to keep taking this, Maeglin thought deliriously. There was <em>no way</em>. He tangled his hand in that flame-red hair and forced Sauron down to his knees, his hands shaking as he pulled his robes aside. Sauron opened his mouth, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He would probably bite, but Maeglin wasn’t sure he cared. He took a breath and then shoved his cock into Sauron’s mouth.</p><p>Sauron didn’t bite. Maeglin moaned desperately as that slick, hot mouth closed on him. He forced Sauron the whole way down, and the Maia went, tears springing to his lashes, but he didn’t gag, didn’t protest, just shuddered softly and let Maeglin fuck his mouth, yanking him around by his hair. “It’s <em>good</em>,” Maeglin gasped, blankly. It was so good, so <em>hot</em>, so slick and sweet—and his handprints still stood out clearly on either one of Sauron’s cheeks, bright red and swelling. His lips were red, his mouth stretched. Maeglin gasped and groaned and pulled back before he climaxed too soon.</p><p>Looking down, he traced Sauron’s cheek with his fingers. “What are you <em>doing</em>?” he asked hoarsely.</p><p>“You liked me as a wolf, did you not?” Sauron murmured, his eyes following Maeglin as he walked in a tight, stiff, awkward little circle. “Perhaps I am showing you that you are no one’s <em>pup</em>.”</p><p>The hair went up on the back of Maeglin’s neck, and before he could even <em>think</em>, he was grabbed Sauron around the throat and slamming him back into the wall. “Don’t you <em>dare</em>—”</p><p>Sauron choked and laughed, eyes shining like bright stars. “What? Tell you the truth?”</p><p>Maeglin was trembling; he could feel his fingers digging into the Maia’s throat, and all it did was make him writhe and moan. “Shut up, you don’t know anything, you don’t—I am a monster and a monster’s useless spawn!”</p><p>“Oh, little shadow, you have me pinned helpless to a wall,” crooned Sauron. “Besides, don’t you know that I love monsters?”</p><p>When Maeglin shot a knee up between his legs, Sauron gasped and doubled over, laughing. “Why aren’t you hurting me?” Maeglin demanded helplessly. “You’re <em>not</em> at my mercy.”</p><p>Those dark eyes looked up at him. “Here? No, I am not, that’s true, though I think you do yourself a disservice if you think that if we were not in Angband you would be so unable to turn the tables on me.” A little smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. “But I do not need to be at your mercy to enjoy seeing your strength displayed, princeling.” He ran his tongue around his mouth eagerly, catching a stray bead of blood from a tiny split in his lip. “And to enjoy the fruits of your violence.”</p><p>“You’re <em>mad</em>,” Maeglin whispered, and the blood was rushing and pounding in his ears, because he was also <em>beautiful</em>, and Maeglin was still achingly, achingly hard.</p><p>Sauron laughed again. “Come now,” he said softly. “What’s a little madness between friends?”</p><p>“You really do <em>like this</em>.”</p><p>“What a beautiful fool you are, of course I do.” His grin grew wider. “And so do you. So come take what you want.”</p><p>“Fine then, I <em>will</em>.” Maeglin grabbed him again and started to spin him around, then very deliberately stopped, pulled him close, and flung him bodily onto the bed instead. He followed, tearing Sauron’s robes off him with a rending noise and yanking them up over his head so that he could twist the Maia’s wrists together with the cloth and then loop it over the bedstead. Sauron could have freed himself easily if he chose, but he did not try, just waiting with his eyes blown wide and dark and his hips shifting restlessly.</p><p>Maeglin spat in his hand and slipped it about his own cock for a moment, then, with little ceremony, pulled Sauron’s hips up and folded him over before forcing himself inside with a gasp. Beneath him, Sauron gave a cry, perhaps of pain, but did not protest. He was tight and hot--so hot, almost burning—and Maeglin wondered dizzily if this was how it normally felt or if it had to do with his nature.</p><p>Clutching at Sauron’s hips, he thrust in hard, and the Maia gasped and cursed and tried to roll his hips back against him. He had little purchase in his folded-over position, and Maeglin felt a wave of dizzy pleasure at the thought of how helpless the other was like this. He leaned down and put his hand on the Maia’s throat again, watching with fascination as those eyes went dark and dim and dizzy, as Sauron let Maeglin fuck him.</p><p>He let go after what he thought would be just too long for an Elf, not certain if the Maia needed to breathe as the Eldar did. Sauron did gasp in a rasp of air, mewling softly. There was sweat beading on his brow as well, and his eyes were unfocused, his jaw almost slack. He did not look so proud and fearful now, and Maeglin’s breath caught, almost as much at the sight as at the tight wet heat around his cock.</p><p>Maeglin grunted softly and quickened his pace. Sauron was lying mostly limp now, letting Maeglin fuck him, letting Maeglin use him, his cheeks covered in a red flush that was spreading down to his chest, his plush, swollen lips parted a little as he panted and moaned. His hard cock bounced against his belly, smearing it with precome as Maeglin forced his body up and down the bed with each thrust.</p><p>“How does it feel, Sauron?” he gasped, half-mocking, half-curious. The red-gold lashes fluttered about those flaming eyes, and a little smile curled across Sauron’s face.</p><p>“Mairon,” he replied, sounding almost dreamy. “You should call me Mairon.”</p><p>“I don’t know if you’ve proved yourself so admirable,” Maeglin shot back. He moaned and bit his lip, feeling his climax starting to approach as he fucked into that tight hole again and again. His hand shot out and slapped Sauron across the face again, and Sauron moaned raggedly. “Answer the <em>question</em>. How does it—how do <em>I</em> feel <em>inside you</em>?”</p><p>“<em>Beautiful</em>,” Sauron moaned, his eyes still unfocused.</p><p>“What if—” Maeglin panted, fucking him harder now, his hands tightening again on those round hips. “What if I come inside you? An Elf in—inside a Maia?”</p><p>Those hazy eyes, wide and almost vacant, looked at him. “Beautiful,” he murmured again. “Do you truly not know it? No—I suppose you would not.” Maeglin sobbed and, biting off an angry retort, dragged his nails down the center of Sauron’s chest, almost hard enough to draw blood. The Maia shouted and came untouched, clenching around Maeglin and spattering his own seed across the quickly-reddening flesh of his belly and chest.</p><p>The sudden feel of him tightening was like nothing else in the world, and Maeglin’s orgasm followed, a sudden dark surge of warmth, like the shadows rising up to whisper in his ear. He didn’t realize until he was panting and barely holding himself up, until he pulled out slowly and watched his seed dripping slowly out of Sauron’s hole, that it had not felt like a bright, discordant note ripped out of him but like something else entirely.</p><p>When he looked at Sauron’s face, he found that the Maia was smiling softly, his eyes still glazed and unfocused. Maeglin felt the most confusing and unaccustomed rush of warmth twisting inside his belly.</p><p>“What is it?” he asked awkwardly.</p><p>Sauron sucked in a shaky breath. “I forgot what it was like,” he whispered, and there was something so strangely innocent about it that Maeglin could hardly countenance that he was the same dark, monstrous creature the stories spoke of.</p><p>“What?” he prompted, as Sauron seemed to have no inclination to continue.</p><p>“To see beauty in the mending, instead of in the breaking.”</p><p>As Maeglin stared at him, a choked feeling rising in his throat, Sauron made a soft, sweet noise, like a dog’s pleasured huff, and tugged weakly at Maeglin’s hand, placing it on his head.</p><p>“Was I good?” he asked, still in that same queer tone that made Maeglin’s heart swell and twist and fluctuate oddly in his chest.</p><p>“Yes,” he replied, after a moment, petting the Maia gently, almost the way his mother used to pet him when he was very little. “You were very good. Very good indeed.” He slung a leg over Sauron’s body and lay down on the bed beside him. He expected Sauron to get up or to object, but instead he nuzzled at Maeglin’s neck and ear.</p><p>“I’m so glad,” he murmured softly. “I want to be good for you.”</p><p>Sudden, fierce tears pricked at Maeglin’s eyes. Was <em>this</em> what it meant to take a lover? He was sure this queer phase would pass, and that those intelligent eyes would shutter and darken. Sauron might not hurt him, but he did not care for him, not truly—how could he?</p><p>And yet, it made Maeglin wonder—could even a monster love? He himself had loved his mother enough to sacrifice for her, even if it had not been enough. The creature at his side wriggled. “Am I beautiful? Tell me I’m beautiful,” he demanded.</p><p>Maeglin almost asked if he thought he had earned it, but he paused. This was not part of the game anymore, was it? Had there ever been a game? What was happening? “Yes,” he said shortly, after a moment. “Of course you’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>A soft intake of breath. “Ah.” He nuzzled at Maeglin’s neck again, curling about him. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “Stay with me, please.”</p><p>Maeglin couldn’t stop the laugh that he coughed out. “Why? Because you like it so much when I hurt you?”</p><p>There was a pause and a soft warm breath. Maeglin felt two hot beads of moisture on his upper shoulder. “No. Well, yes. But no, because I like it so much when you see me.”</p><p>It made Maeglin go quiet. “All right,” he said, after a long, strained, drawn-out moment. “I’ll stay with you. We can be monsters together.”</p><p>A soft little sigh. “Once I wasn’t a monster, you know.”</p><p>“I always was,” Maeglin told him harshly, and Sauron’s bright-flame eyes looked at him, and they seemed to be—sad. He didn’t speak, he only pressed closer to Maeglin, and Maeglin, reckless, took what comfort he could.</p>
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